The Bench
by Caprichoso
Summary: Raven has an unusual habit, and it may not be a secret anymore. A somewhat creepy BBRae one shot.


**AN:** Seeing as how Bilita Mpash is not going to be everyone's cup of tea (or more accurately, pure lemon juice), I'm publishing this at the same time. It's a pretty creepy take on BBRae. Just warning you in advance.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Teen Titans, and I don't make money off of much of anything just now.

**The Bench**

Every week or so, Raven tells the team she's going out to look for some new books.

It's a lie, but to scratch her itching conscience, she tells herself there's at least some truth in it. She is in search of a story, in a way— a fantasy. She seeks to be transported away, to forget her reality. That _is_ what books are meant to do; this is just a very different kind of reading.

Raven goes to the park; it's a nice summer day, a weekend— perfect for her purposes. Taking her time, she wanders across the grounds until she selects a spot to settle, then produces a book from beneath her cloak. There are plenty of open benches, but she has this specific one in mind; not for solitude, as her teammates might expect, but for its proximity to a very particular aura.

_This_ is what she's been searching for, the vicarious pleasure she's been craving.

It's a young couple this time, no older than her. They're past the stage of butterflies, but the surge of emotions when one of them leans over to whisper in the other's ear is still sweet ambrosia to the empath's senses. There are still uncertainties as well; they're madly in love, but neither has told the other yet. And Raven finds herself hoping… _maybe today_. Maybe they'll say it today, and she'll learn what _that_ feels like too.

Over months of sneaking away for this illicit activity, Raven has reconstructed most of the feelings of a blossoming relationship, albeit out of order, from the first-date jitters to the well-worn love of an elderly couple. The latter is like a homemade quilt borrowed from a stranger; the scent is at once both unfamiliar and unmistakable— home, but not one's own home. Never, though, has she felt that first declaration of love… and oh, how she longs for it.

Because she knows she will never feel it for herself.

She knows these feelings will never be hers to experience for herself any more than an average citizen will experience the thrill of crimefighting. And it is with her service as a crimefighter that she justifies her theft as a reward, a trifle like Beast Boy stealing wi-fi from a neighboring coffee shop while they're at the pizza place.

Even now, she knows she's wrong… but she needs this enough to push that aside. She has more than enough time for shame later.

And so Raven sits, enthralled by this moment, allowing herself to be transported away by the authors of this unattainable, magical romance.

—

Garfield, perched in a tree as a squirrel, keeps his distance until he sees Raven's eyes drift shut, waits for her expression to change before he lets himself feel again. It's tough to suppress his emotions and drop completely off the empath's radar, but not nearly as tough as it was to do so with a full-fledged telepath like Mento.

The Doom Patrol's training has come in handy more times than he can count, but he wouldn't be proud to tell Rita about all of them.

At first, it was innocent curiosity that led Garfield to follow Raven. What kinds of books did she want to buy? What was her favorite bookstore? At the very least, knowing would make buying gifts for her a bit easier when Christmas rolled around.

When he saw her come to the park, he was confused; even more so when she sat down and pulled out a book. If she was going to buy books, why would she bring along one of her own?

Then, as the minutes passed, he began to notice small details, minutiae that passerby wouldn't see. For example, she hadn't turned the page since she sat down. And her face, mostly obscured though it was by that cursed hood, was more openly blissful than he had ever seen. It didn't make any sense to him… until he saw the lovers seated on the bench next to hers.

It's been at least a month since then, and each time she's pulled out the book-hunting excuse, Garfield has "gone to the arcade".

He can't help this obsession with seeing her so happy. He knows he can't be the one to make her feel like this, but that's not important; just that she can feel it, and he can be there to see it.

Raven's so beautiful and tragic in this illusion she cultivates, this belief that no one could love her. He knows she's wrong, just as he knows he can never tell her why.

After all, the fact that she's here now proves she doesn't reciprocate his feelings; she's doubtlessly sensed them bouncing around the Tower.

And so, with no other recourse, they remain fixed in this moment of weakness. She's addicted to the sensation of love; he, to watching her in the throes of her addiction.

Just for a moment, he allows himself to change back to his natural form and inhale her scent on the breeze. He wants to know, has to know, what she smells like when she's in love.

"You think you're alone, Raven," he whispers, "But you're not."


End file.
